


Can't Let Go

by undeadpsycho13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadpsycho13/pseuds/undeadpsycho13
Summary: Despite his claims that he “wanted nothing to do with that filthy blood-traitor”, and that “that boy cannot be my brother, he has brought nothing but shame upon the family name”, Regulus did miss his brother.  No, he told himself, I miss the Sirius that left for Hogwarts six years ago, not this new, snobby, Gryffindor version of him.  But no matter what he tells himself, no matter what he chants over and over again in his head, to see his brother leave like that, like a thief in the night, in spite of the fact that he had vowed he would eventually do it, still hurt like hell.





	1. The Leaving of Things

**Author's Note:**

> I took the chapter title from the wonderful book The Leaving of Things by Jay Antani. ^_^

Regulus stared sadly at the closed door, heart and mind screaming with the pain of loss and yet resigned.  Resigned, knowing his brother would be better off with the Potters than with his own family.  Without him. 

Regulus had always been the obedient child, and Sirius the rebellious one.  It was a fact, just as much of one as Black was the most renowned and respected family in the Wizarding World, among the Black family.  From since the time that they were children Sirius had always been the first to step out of line, the first to be accused, the first to be punished.  Their parents automatically assumed, whenever there was a sound of pottery shattered or an antique found mysteriously broken, that it was their insubordinate eldest child that had committed the misdeed.  And so the boy played along with them, took the punishment of his younger brother’s offenses as well as his own without a word of complaint, so that, in the eyes of Walburga and Orion Black, Regulus seemed all the more angelic and Sirius all the more demonic.

Normally, the younger child was never there to witness his brother’s punishment; their parents did not deem it fit to traumatized their perfect child with the horrors of torture.  And yet there was that one time when Regulus was seven that the portrait of their grandfather was found ripped, and Walburga was so upset with the vandalism of her father’s painting that she, in her haste, forgot to cast a silencing charm on the room where Sirius received his punishment, and the boy’s heart-wrenching screams could be heard echoing around the deserted hallways of the Black Manor.  The first time that Regulus actually saw the horrifying abuse, however, was the year he turned nine, when Orion Black decided that the whole family needed to know what would happen if anyone dared disobey his again.

Sirius was pulled up roughly into a standing position, and even from his spot at the door, Regulus could see the undiluted terror in his eyes, much resembling a cornered animal.  He noticed everything, every detail, that day, still clearly imprinted into the depths of his mind even after six long years.  Regulus noticed the telltale glisten of tears in the ten-year-old’s eyes even as the wand was raised.  He noticed his father’s lips forming a soundless _Crucio_ , an expression of absolute loathing and a hint of lunacy on his face.  He noticed how Sirius’ back arched back in pain as the spell hit him, noticed the beaded blood on the boy’s lips from bite marks created in an effort of stopping the shrieks of agony, noticed the glee in Orion’s eyes and remembered the sickening realization that their father was actually _enjoying_ this, this abuse, this torture, of his own _son_.

Afterwards Sirius had been dragged back to his room, barely conscious and yet eyes still wide with the horrors of the past few hours.  When their parents had retreated to the other end of the manor where they resided, Regulus had crept into his brother’s room and found the ten-year-old just sitting there, a blank expression on his face, staring at the wall in, perhaps, post-trauma, and the younger of the two felt his heart squeezed in anguish and guilt because it was in fact he who had spilled the wine on Orion Black’s books.  As Regulus walked closer, he saw that the other boy’s lips were moving slightly, in robotic movements.

“They’ve never… They’ve never… I didn’t think that they would… How could they have… ”

Sirius mutters to himself, the words slurred and barely coherent.  Regulus wondered what he was talking about, but at the sight of his spirited brother broken to pieces like this took his mind off the puzzle of Sirius’ words.  He slowly walked up to the bed, and sat down on it cautiously, as though afraid to startle the other.  Sirius showed no sign of acknowledgement, not even a pause in breath or a nod of the head.  It was only until the child wrapped his arms around the other that the boy finally turned to face him, a haunted look lingering in his eyes, glassy and distant with mental and physical pain.

“The Cruciatus is _illegal_ , Reggie, _illegal_ , isn’t it?  Isn’t it?”

His voice cracked and faltered in the end, as though his whole being was beginning to shatter.  And though shatter he might, Sirius eventually recovered, regaining his loud, obnoxious yet endearing personality, though there would be times when his mind suddenly swept him back to that traumatizing night and he would freeze in the middle of something else and just space out or start screaming incoherent words.

A few months after the incident, Sirius went to Hogwarts.  He seemed eager to leave his family behind, boarding the train that would no doubt bring him countless adventures —— without Regulus.  Occasionally, letters would be sent, regarding his House or his friends or his grades.  And even more rarely, a personal letter would be sent near midnight, a black owl pecking at Regulus’ window to notify him.  But, most of the time, it was just Regulus wandering aimlessly around the empty house, alone with nothing but the house elf and the ghosts he convinced himself were there.

When Sirius came back, he was distant, hateful, as though even being in the house was unbearable.  When Regulus joined his brother in Hogwarts two years later, the two were not close anymore, barely on speaking terms.  This worsened when Regulus was Sorted into Slytherin; the House differences changed their mentality even more.  Now, though, as he stared at the door to the House of the Black, his heart ached for his brother.  Despite his claims that he “wanted nothing to do with that filthy blood-traitor”, and that “that boy cannot be my brother, he has brought nothing but shame upon the family name”, Regulus did miss his brother.  No, he told himself, I miss the Sirius that left for Hogwarts six years ago, not this new, snobby, Gryffindor version of him.  But no matter what he tells himself, no matter what he chants over and over again in his head, to see his brother leave like that, like a thief in the night, in spite of the fact that he had vowed he would eventually do it, still hurt like hell.

Regulus turned to leave, and felt tears threatening to spill from his large, grey eyes.  Eyes that could be mistaken for his brother’s, if not for the few shades darker.  His original intention was to return to his room where his parents couldn’t hear and cry his heart out, but instead he walks just a little further down the corridor, where he stops in front of his brother’s door.  For a moment he hesitates, second questioning himself about this, but his resolve doesn’t waver, so he gently pushes open the door and walks in.  Reds and golds hit him full in the face, despite the poor light source, so unlike the greens and silvers decorating the rest of the house.  But then he sees more.  He sees the photographs adorning the walls, still photographs of muggles and strange unmoving structures.  These, he ignores.  What really catches his attention are the two pictures hanging by his bed side.  They are no doubt enchanted photos from the wizarding world, judging by the moving subjects in the frames, and as Regulus walks over, he realises that they are both photos with Sirius in them.  The first one, the one on the right, is Sirius with the Marauders.  He has one arm carelessly swung over the shoulders of James and Remus, and is laughing hysterically, with Peter smiling hesitantly in the background.  Regulus’ heart jolts as he realises he can’t remember the last time he made his brother laugh like that, with his increasingly hurtful comments and snide, dismissing actions.  It’s the picture to the right, however, that catches Regulus’ attention and traps it like a bird in a cage.  This is an old photograph, a photo from what seemed like another lifetime away, of Sirius and Regulus, smiling and waving and laughing, totally unaware that in just a short few years, their lives would plummet to the deepest pits of hell.  Alone.  Without reassurance.  They would be alone in navigating the cruel world, all because of questionable beliefs, hammered into their head with a single decision of a stupid _hat_.  Regulus tries to peel the photograph off, but it’s stuck there firmly, probably bound by some sort of spell to keep their parents from ripping it off.  Slowly, hesitantly, he removed his wand from a pocket in his robes, and muttered a simple removing incantation.  To his utter surprise, the piece of paper came fluttering down.  But if these pictures were this easy to remove, how had their parent not done so already?  Regulus’ seeker reflexes kick in automatically, and he catches the paper before it hits the ground.  It is then that the boy realises the back has words written on it.  In Sirius’ delicate handwriting are two ambiguous sentences:

_Become Chaser.  Save Seeker._

Jealously wormed its way into Regulus’ heart.  Even on the back of _their_ photo, still there was evidence of Sirius’ utter and unquestionable devotion towards James Potter, the stupid, stuck-up, arrogant, _obnoxiously perfect_ Gryffindor.

It was then that the tears came, like a waterfall caused by a broken dam.


	2. Harder to Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus hated that day, because it was the day he realised, despite everything, his brother still cared for him.
> 
> This just made it harder to hate Sirius.
> 
> And that just made it easier to loathe himself.

The first time Regulus saw Sirius after The Leaving was at Platform 9⅓.  It was from afar, and Sirius didn’t see him.  Too busy laughing the morons he had for friends.  But there was something more carefree about the boy, as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.  Regulus suddenly realised that he couldn’t remember the last time he saw his brother happy like this while he was home, with the pressure of being heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of the Black.  Dejected, he walked onto the train and found an empty compartment to sit in.

It remains empty except for him for the rest of the train ride.

The feast is boring.  Dumbledore rants on and on, nonsensical sentences spewing from his mouth that capture the undivided attention of everyone in the Great Hall.  Except the Slytherins.  Regulus and Severus Snape especially look upon the old headmaster in disdain, hating him for all they're worth.  Only during the breakfast the next day does something out of the ordinary happens.  A large owl the color of obsidian descends towards the Gryffindors, at Sirius, and lands in front of him, dropping a red parcel in front of the boy.  It stands there for a few seconds, its head cocked to one side, as though sizing up an opponent.  Then suddenly, without a warning, it spreads its enormous wings and flies at the poor childs face, resulting in bone-chilling screams echoing through the hall.  Pleased with the mess it's made, the owl flies away with the rest, leaving a hall full of stunned looking students, silence interrupted only by the victims’ swearing.  Regulus turns to see that his brother is covered in bloody scratches, with a long cut on one side of his face.  Though trying to remain stoic, the Slytherin can tell that Sirius is in greater pain than he lets on, with his mouth firmly shut in a line and the slight tremble of his shoulders.  Regulus resists the urge to go see how bad his injuries are; they are not close anymore and he does not have the right.  Sirius has his goddamned  _ friends _ to help him, to answer to his every beck and call.  He doesn’t need his stupid younger brother.  The teachers don’t really care, just tell him to visit Madam Pomfrey later.  They say it's a minor injury, that he’s a big boy now.  Isn’t that how one would reassure two year olds, not sixteen year olds?

The forgotten red envelope lies on the table, shaking and quivering.  While everyone is still riled up, Walburga Black's’ voice suddenly starts screaming profanities and insults.  The Slytherin table is now laughing as one, accompanied by a few muted chuckles from the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs.  Humiliated, the older Black abruptly stood.  Even without having a proper conversation with him in months, Regulus knew that to Sirius, this embarrassment hurt more than that of a physical blow.  The Black stalked out of the room, his brother staring at his back while trying and failing to match the laughter of his housemates.

The next time the brothers met was during Quidditch practice.  Apparently, both teams had booked the field for practice and the captains were currently yelling their faces off at each other.  This would probably end as  fist-fight; there was an unspoken, mutual agreement between the two Housed that where it was associated to Quidditch, no teachers were to get involved.  There was to much House rivalry for the teachers not to be bias.  True to his word, Sirius had tried out to be Chaser of the Gryffindor team.  Predictably, the golden brother that outshone him in everything at school got the position without even batting an eye.  Said brother was watching the two seventh-year boys scream with an oddly bemused expression gracing his face.  James was standing next to him snickering, as though there was something funny.  But wait… it was not the argument the two were watching. Only looking closer did Regulus see that the Slytherin team captain had a metal board with neon words stating:

_ I AM A PIG. _

Seriously, sometimes his brother was so damn childish.  It wasn’t even an intelligent insult, just a sentence kindergarteners would use to prank each other.  Judging by the look of it, however, the spell used to create it was anything by simple.  It not only made it so that the victim didn’t notice that there was a freaking metal board attached to his back, it also prevented the other Slytherins from telling him about the board.  Whenever Regulus opened his mouth with the intention of informing him, an invisible force forcefully clamped his jaw shut.  How did Sirius have the skill of a thirty year-old but the mentality of a child?

Shaking his head, Regulus silently glared at his brother, not that he noticed.  Until he did.  Maybe a coincidence, maybe a stroke of luck, he suddenly jerked his head towards Regulus, and was met by a ferocious glare.  Much to his satisfaction, Sirius looked a bit terrified.   _ Serves him right _ , thought Regulus.

After that, the two only saw each other from across the Dining Hall, or in hallways in between classes.  Never did they acknowledge each other.  Never.  Not even when the Marauders were dueling Severus and Evan Rosier did he intervene, only watching from the shadows with a twisted smirk on his face.  Until.  Until the day came when they did.

Regulus hated that day.

His day had not gone well so far.  Fairly sure that he had forgotten to stir counterclockwise for his Sleeping Drought during Potions, and that the rest of his classes today were with Gryffindor, he was not in a good mood.  He was currently in the library, minding his own business and studying furiously for a Charms exam.  The only thought that had crossed his mind was that he was  _ going to fail, Going To Fail, GOING TO FAIL _ .  It was after his break, of which he still had exactly six minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and there was the two minutes plus time he needed to consider for walking up to his classroom.  Then, out of nowhere, a figure barreled into the boy, sending them both crashing to the ground.  Regulus cursed wildly at the other, the dull pain pulsing through his head making it nearly impossible to comprehend the situation.  Groaning, he hoisted his weight onto his elbows, only to be pushed down again unceremoniously by an unknown force.  The last thing he saw before blacking out were a pair of wide, apologetic eyes.  His last thought before sinking into peaceful darkness was:  

_ Thank God I get to skip that Charms exam _ .

 

* * *

 

 

Opening his eyes sometime later, he was engulfed by white; white light, white sheets, white curtains.  The Hospital Wing.  He shifted his head to the side, and barely withheld an audible gasp at the sight of his brother sitting on a wooden chair next to his bed, gazing out the window, evidently lost in his own thoughts.  It took him a good five minutes to realise that Regulus was staring at him, and when he did, it was only because the younger one had purposefully coughed rather loudly.  Awkwardly, the Gryffindor attempted in conversation, and then excused himself not five minutes later.  Looking at the clock, Regulus realised it had been more than three hours since he had been knocked out.  

He had waited… and then left.  Why on earth would Sirius have waited for three hours, then leave as soon as Regulus woke up?  The Gryffindor had never been a master of masking his emotions, unlike his brother; it had been obvious that he was uncomfortable making conversation, because of how… weird things had gotten between the two.  But then why would he be sitting next to him for so long when he clearly had better things to do.  The first thing that came to mind was that he was trying to skip class with this excuse.  But then he realised that classes had ended hours ago.  In fact, even dinner had ended thirty minutes ago.  But then why… 

Regulus hated that day, because it was the day he realised, despite everything, his brother still cared for him.

This just made it harder to hate Sirius.

And that just made it easier to loathe himself.


	3. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the update delay, I was kind of focusing on my TMR fanfics, but anyways, hope you like it :)

It was cold, the day Sirius almost died.

So cold, and yet still there was Quidditch match between the Slytherins and Gryffindors going on.  It seemed a family trait that the Blacks always seemed more susceptible to the cold.  Especially Regulus.

The boy had never been strong to begin with.  Not strong physically, not strong mentally, not strong-willed like his brother.  He was a weak child, and it did not help that he had been plagued with diseases from the very start.  The cold weather and thin Quidditch uniforms did nothing to help his health.

But the whole Slytherin House was counting on him, their renowned Seeker, to win this game.  And so he played on without a word of complaint, despite the skeptical look the Head of House gave him before the game.  “To cold,” he had stated, “Would it not be better to get you a replacement?”  But no, he had adamantly refused, letting his team down was simply not an option.  Especially considering the game was against  _ Gryffindors _ .

But now, now he kind of regretted it.  It wasn’t just the natural elements; something was off with the Bulger as well.  Not that anyone in the audience could see; the conditions were to bad for them to see anything; even the spokesman was having difficulty commenting with what little he could see.  And neither team was willing to lose a precious player, if not just for a few minutes, to inform the crowd of the suspicious behaviour.  Slytherin especially.  But Regulus was really starting to have his doubts, and really wanting to tell someone; this particular Bludger seemed to be attracted towards him.  And then something caught his eye, something that made him forget about the stray Bludger immediately.

A glint of gold.  A flutter of wings.  The Snitch.

If he caught that, the game would end.  If he caught that, Slytherin would win.  If he caught that, he would be a true Slytherin hero.  Spinning his broom around, he dove towards the golden prize, eager to snatch it.  He was getting closer, three metres, two metres, one meter…

_ WHAM! _

As his hand closer over the ball, a dull thud came from his left, followed by a pained cry.  Still clutching the Snitch painfully tight, he whirled around to see Sirius, falling down, down, down, his blood suspended in the air as though in slow motion as he fell.  Without even thinking, Regulus nose-dived towards him.  Only ten metres until he hit the ground, nine, eight, seven, six, five… 

At two meters and thirty six point six five centimeters before he hits the ground, Regulus snags his foot, slowing his fall but bringing both brothers down.  Briefly, Regulus black's out, and when he opens his eyes they are surrounded by teachers and medical staff.  He screams out loud, the shattering cry spiraling up into the sky, when he sees the state Sirius is in.

The boy’s glassy, grey eyes framed with thick lashes are open wide, presumably with shock, staring sightlessly up into the sky.  His shoulder-length hair is splayed out around his head like a demonic halo, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles.  A thin stream of blood runs from a mess of cuts and bruises at the left side of his head, and his clothes have been ripped to shreds from the impact.  The worst sight, however, is his mouth, a startling shade of purple and blue, parted.  Regulus doesn’t even know why this would be the most haunting sight for him; shouldn’t the blood, or the glazed eyes be more so nauseating?  But no, it’s those lips that break his heart.  Blue, blue from the cold and the wind and the fall.  Blue from the loss of blood.  Blue, reflecting the melancholy mood.  Melancholy yet frantic, a strange combination.   Regulus feels as though he should be doing something, helping the teachers stop the flow of blood or something.  But no, he just stares in shock at the body before him, lying on the cold, hard ground.  It starts to rain.  The flowers growing near where he fell makes it look like a burial site, heavy droplets of precipitation contributing to the solemnity.

The next few hours pass in a daze.  Regulus barely remembers anything, just the bright, whiteness of the hospital wing and people talking in hushed whispers.  Regulus’ injuries are minor, barely worth attention; everyone is focused mainly on Sirius.  They don’t know if he’ll live.  Of course, all the teachers are concerned about is answering to parents if a student dies, and the reputation of their school.  They don’t know that Walburga and Orion Black will not care if their son dies; in their hearts and minds he is already dead, died the moment he was Sorted into the “wrong” House.

His friends will miss him.  Even Regulus cannot deny this fact, because even if he doesn’t want it to be this way, he knows that Sirius’ friends were closer to him than Regulus.  They will mourn him.  They will cry and wail and tear at their hair, but eventually they will get over it.

The only person who won’t get over it will be Regulus.  Never will he be able to live down the guilt, the guilt that will consume him and eat away at him from the inside.  Sirius  _ cannot die _ .

The next few hours are agonizing.  Waiting, waiting, waiting for it to end, waiting for news, waiting while listening to the terrified sobs of the other Marauders.  Wimps.  Regulus does not cry, he sits stoically in his bed as he waits.  Waits for something,  _ anything _ , to happen.

_ Not going to make it _ , rings through the Hospital Wing like a curse, uttered by one of the doubtful ones.  But Regulus refuses to believe this.  A silent mantra is chanted over and over again in his head:

_ Don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die…  _

Finally, after hours, Sirius is declared to be in “stable condition”.  Whatever the hell that meant.  Regulus just wanted to know if his brother was alive.  Turns out, he was, and he wouldn’t die any time soon.

The first time Sirius woke after his fall, he had started speaking deliriously, muttering  _ I’m sorry  _ over and over again.  What are you sorry for, Regulus thought bitterly, I’m the one who should be sorry.  You almost died trying to save me, what do you have to be sorry for?

As soon as Sirius was well enough to receive guests, pretty much the whole Gryffindor House bombarded the Hospital Wing.  And yet all through the visits, it did not fail to escape Regulus’ notice that his brother kept glancing at him with the most peculiar expression.  Something caught between distress and… was that guilt he saw?

After the obnoxious crowds left, it was just the two brothers.  The two brothers with the clock ticking in the background, almost annoyingly so.  Out of the blue, an  _ Expulso _ was whispered and the clock shattered and fell, but was caught by a  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ cast by another wand before it hit the ground.  Regulus wanted to glare at his brother for vandalising property, but couldn’t find the heart to do it.

After another thirty odd minutes of silence, it was Sirius who broke it with an almost inaudible whisper,

“It was a prank, you know.  I’m sorry.”

Regulus was so startled at the sudden statement he spun around too fast for the injury in his neck to cope, and as a result winced in pain at the movement.  The other, either ignoring him or oblivious, kept on speaking,

“My friends, James and Peter, they wanted to charm the Bludger to target someone, you know, hit someone doing a game to screw them up, they’ve been planning it for weeks now.  I… Well, I didn’t participate, but they talked about it sometimes, just as passing comments.  I didn’t know they would… that they would do it so soon, only just realised in the middle of the game… I’m sorry that happened you know, real sorry… ”

As he listened, an icy layer started form across Regulus’ heart, but now, seeing as his brother was close to tears, Regulus felt it soften.   Instead of acknowledging what he’d said, Regulus asked,

“What was that note in your room, the one on the back of our photo, what was that all about?”

Silence reigned for a few tensional moments, before a nervous,

“You saw that?”

This was confirmed with a nod, along with, 

“The day you left.”

“Just… just a note to remind me about… something.”

Sirius had never been big on sentimentality, or openly expressing his feelings, probably a byproduct of being tortured in his youth.  Regulus could easily see pass the poor act of hiding the true meaning of his note.  Giving Sirius a condescending look, he said,

“Come on, you and I both know that’s a lie.”

Sirius paused, then finally said in a voice Regulus strained to hear,

“Fine, I wrote that note to figure out a way to… save you, when they pulled the prank.  Never really got passed the planning stage, and ended up in this mess, as you can tell.”

Bitter laughter replaced words, and then in turn were taken place by a torrent of tears.

Regulus gave him a moment, before continuing his interrogation of sorts,

“But couldn’t you have just… told them  _ not _ to pull the prank?”

“Oh, you don’t understand, little innocent Reggie, still too young and fickle… ”

Regulus supposed he should have been offended by this, but he was too curious to retaliate.

“House rivalries are more complex than you think.  What would all the Gryffindors say if I helped my little snake brother?  Do you know how hard I worked to gain my position in the Gryffindor hierarchy?  It wasn't easy, I tell you, being a Black.  So naturally, I couldn’t just, couldn’t just throw that all out the window to help you; I still have another two years in this school to endure.  I used to think the Gryffindor was the ideal House, Gryffindor had no faults.  Then I realised that it’s all just a matter of relativity.  None of the Houses are perfect, in fact, none of the Houses even come  _ close _ to perfect.  Oh, what am I talking about, just gave you a bloody lecture didn’t I?”

There was a pause, in which Regulus recognised the truth in his brother’s words.

“Thank you.  Thank you for, you know, not leaving me to get pulverized.  Can we, umm, stop hating each other.”

Regulus could practically hear the smile in Sirius’ voice when he replied,

“I never hated you, Reggie.”

“I don’t think I ever really hated you either.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was cold, the day Sirius almost died.

It was cold, the day Regulus almost lost his brother, yet in a sense found him once more.

It was cold, the day the two brothers found each other once more.

Yet both felt warm anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAASSS, I'm finally done this story. My first multi-chapter one ^_^
> 
> Sorry for the cheesy ending, but you know, sometimes you just gotta have a cheesy ending
> 
> You know for the past few days, I've been writing Maze Runner stuff, so you do not know HOW MANY TIMES I've written shuck and shank in this HP fanfic, and then realised, "oh wait, they don't say things like that."
> 
> Just, you know, FYI

**Author's Note:**

> haha lol
> 
> i finished writing this thing and then realised that James Potter didn't play the position of seeker. he was a (correct me if im wrong) chaser.
> 
> MY LIFE IS A LIE
> 
> oh well, i guess for the purpose of this fanfic he'll just have to be seeker :)


End file.
